


Build Me Up From Bones

by LSquared80



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rewriting 8.04 and 8.05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: The night Jaime learns his sister sent Bronn to kill him, he has a curious and cryptic encounter with Bran Stark.“Yes,” Bran said, answering the question Jaime could not bring himself to ask –will I ever see her again?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hesitated to post this because it probably doesn't make any sense. But then I realized, neither does the show we're watching right now. I needed to find a way to explain why the Jaime at the end of 8.04 and through all of 8.05 seemed like a different person. This is my crazy rewrite where Bran (probably) has a lot more power than he does on the show.

Two things kept Jaime warm on the ride back to Winterfell from the inn – the ale he’d consumed and his rage. It came as no great shock that Cersei would send Bronn to extinguish her brothers but it pained him no less. It struck fear in him to think the Sellsword could return to King’s Landing and tell Cersei that her twin was fucking Brienne of Tarth. 

 

The brothers boarded the horses and bid goodnight. Jaime worked to tamper his anger before Brienne could sense it and be absorbed into his family’s twisted turmoil. If she knew his life was in danger, she would put herself in the line of fire. He walked the grounds, taking deep breaths, and startled at the sight of Bran Stark in the courtyard. “Hello,” Jaime greeted him, intending to continue on his walk. 

 

“Do you love her enough to cause her pain? If it means sparing her life?” Bran asked. 

 

Jaime stopped short, the toes of his boots kicking up a dusting of snow. He turned slowly. “Pardon me?” 

 

“Do you love her enough?” 

 

A shiver spiked up and down Jaime’s spine. He instinctively replied, “Yes. I do.” 

 

Bran nodded. “I could have had you killed but I did not.” 

 

“I know,” Jaime said. “And for that I am grateful.” 

 

“I did not because the living need something only you can give. You must leave Winterfell and return to the Queen.” 

 

Jaime walked closer to the younger man. He glared, unamused by his antics. “Why would I ever go back there? The Queen ordered my death! Even you had more mercy on me.” 

 

“You are the only one, Ser Jaime. Think about the baby.” 

 

“I do. Every day. But I left Cersei and I will not go back.” 

 

“It’s not your sister who is with child,” Bran said. 

 

Jaime’s eyes narrowed. He turned to look in the direction of the guest quarters where Brienne was likely asleep, keeping one side of the bed open for him. His heart raced and he turned back to question Bran, finding him gone. Jaime blinked, wondering if the boy had ever been there at all. 

 

*** 

 

He undressed quietly and stood at the foot of the bed. Brienne was asleep on her back, one arm under the furs and the other stretched out and hanging over the side of the bed. Jaime studied the flicker of firelight on her pale face – a map of shadows. 

 

_You are the only one._

 

Jaime shuddered and carefully eased himself onto the bed and under the furs. He reclined on his side, facing Brienne. His gaze roamed from her face to her midsection, the shape of her body hidden under the warm covers. 

 

_Think about the baby._

 

*** 

 

He observed her for days. Brienne was never sick, never made him suspect she was carrying his child. Jaime berated himself for considering Bran Stark’s cryptic messages as anything more than the boy’s idea of getting under his skin. Tyrion and Daenerys were long gone from Winterfell and Jaime had no intention of parting ways with the North – until he was told about Cersei’s victory. 

 

*** 

 

_Jaime lifted his left hand and it was covered in ash. He lifted his right and saw only the absence of a hand – gold or otherwise. He coughed a cloud of ash._

_He heard a whimper and searched the rubble around him. He searched and searched until he saw a lock of golden hair. Frantic, Jaime hurled heavy stones this way and that, digging until he found Brienne. Her face was dirty and bloodied and her belly swollen with new life. He felt himself smile, but soon there was only screaming as he pulled her, lifeless, from the mess._

 

Jaime’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, relieved to find himself in the comfort of Brienne’s bed. He looked at her chest rising and falling under the furs with every breath. He climbed out of the bed, dressing hastily, and charged out to the courtyard. 

 

Bran was there waiting and Jaime said, “Brienne will die if I stay here or if she goes to King’s Landing. Is that right?” The younger man remained stoic and Jaime bent, grabbing him by the shirt. “Will she die?” he asked through gritted teeth. 

 

“Yes,” Bran replied. 

 

Jaime let go and stumbled back a step. “Tell me what to do,” he said softly. 

 

“You must be captured at Dragonstone. Your brother will betray his Queen and send you to yours.” 

 

“How do you know? Tyrion knows I never want to go back to my sister.” 

 

Bran looked off to the side at nothing in particular. “Do not worry about your brother. I have taken care of it.” 

 

Jaime blinked, dumbfounded. The Stark boy was probably conducting a charade to send Jaime to his death, but for some reason he was compelled to listen. “And after that?” Jaime asked. 

 

Bran only stared at him, but it was enough. Jaime understood. Cersei was never going to surrender and Daenerys was going to destroy King’s Landing, costing innocent lives. He could find a way into the Targaryen camp and stay ahead of their plans. He was the only person who stood a chance of talking Cersei into surrender or could get close enough to strike her down. His golden hand would mark him a Lannister – leading to capture at Dragonstone and entrance to the castle in King’s Landing. 

 

He looked at Bran through watery eyes. 

 

“Yes,” Bran said, answering the question Jaime could not bring himself to ask – _will I ever see her again?_

 

“How?” Jaime wanted to know, thinking it impossible he could survive the confrontation and the war for the throne. 

 

Bran said only, “You must leave tomorrow after nightfall,” before showing Jaime only the whites of his eyes. 

 

*** 

 

Jaime readied his horse and returned to Brienne’s chambers, finding her naked after a bath. She stood by the fire, water shining on her bare skin. He barely closed the door before sweeping her into his arms, desperate to leave with one more memory of her long legs tangled around him and her blue eyes looking upon him with adoration. It was selfish, he knew, but Jaime craved her. He did not think he could survive the first night away if he left without her falling asleep in his arms one last time. 

 

*** 

 

He sat on the foot of the bed, dressed but not ready to leave. Every time Jaime thought he could forget what Bran had said and stay in Winterfell, he heard Brienne’s screams and the agony of thousands of innocent lives. He saw flashes of everything he had done in the name of Cersei. 

 

Jaime looked back at Brienne’s sleeping form one last time before he stood to leave. He could not gift himself one more glance or he would never go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to my re-write of the end (or, when I'm hopeful, what I hope transpires on screen). 
> 
>  
> 
> _Part of Jaime wanted to immediately find the strength to run out into the daylight, charging toward Evenfall Hall as though his feet would know the way. He would have climbed, swam, and fought his way there if that was what it took._

Winterfell had become quiet and mournful, so many of its men gone to fight another war. A majority of the women left behind were with child. Some were heartbroken, others carried on. 

 

Brienne fell somewhere in the middle. 

 

She spent more time in bed, sleeping but also worrying. Trying to find his smell lingering on the furs he had slept under. Dreaming she could feel him pressed against her in the night. 

 

But it wasn’t in Brienne’s nature to wallow, and she spent even more time working with Sansa and wherever else she was needed – the stables, collecting and distributing firewood, teaching the young boys how to wield a sword. 

 

*** 

 

He should not have been alive, but Jaime Lannister drew a breath into his lungs. He breathed out a cloud of ash and coughed. He was on the ground, in the rubble of the Red Keep, and could not begin to understand how he had survived even with the intervention of the Three Eyed Raven. 

 

Jaime rose from the dust, dirty and bloodied but alive. It had never been part of the plan to encounter Euron Greyjoy, and he could still feel the pain of a sword piercing his flesh. 

 

He lifted his arms, his left hand a chalky gray and his right only a stump. The gold hand was gone. 

 

He looked down, surveying the rubble of large stone, rocks, pebbles. Jaime could see a hint of golden hear under a large, ragged stone. Unlike his nightmare, he knew it was Cersei. He thought to dig her out. But it was enough, he knew, that he’d held his sister in her final moments. 

 

*** 

 

“Ser Brienne,” Sansa said, finding her in the Great Hall, “are you feeling alright?” 

 

Brienne sat up straight. “Of course. I’m fine.” 

 

“I only ask because you hardly touched your dinner. You look rather pale.” 

 

“It’s nothing, my Lady.” Brienne slid to the end of the bench. She had been seated there since before dinner was served and her body ached from a lack of use. She stood, keeping her hand on the tabletop a moment before she walked away. Sansa followed her outside and Brienne said, “Let’s ready the horses for... for...” 

 

Sansa hooked her arm around Brienne’s waist. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere.” She urged her to reenter the hall, keeping a hand on Brienne’s back until the knight was once again seated. “I’m going to bring you some water.” 

 

Brienne watched Sansa walk away and only then clutched a hand to her stomach. She had in fact hardly touched her dinner, but what little she did eat seemed to disagree with her. Her stomach lurched and she had to admit she was sick. The same thing had happened that morning, and the morning before that. 

 

“You will both feel better soon enough,” Bran said. 

 

She looked around, finding him by the fire. “Pardon, my Lord?” 

 

Sansa returned with a cup of water and Gilly. The two women surrounded Brienne, looking at one another with curious smiles. 

 

“What?” Brienne asked, offended by the attention. 

 

Gilly held a hand to her own slightly round stomach. “Ser Brienne,” she said carefully, “when was your last moon’s blood?” 

 

Brienne felt the air drain from her lungs. She looked toward Bran and shook her head. “No. No, it can’t be.” 

 

*** 

 

Jaime grunted as he made his way back to the water. He collapsed on the sand and rolled onto his back, staring at the pristine blue sky. His eyes were heavy, closing and opening and closing, and he became powerless against the exhaustion. 

 

He woke staring at the same sky, a darker shade of blue as the sun began to descend. Jaime got to his knees and crawled toward the dinghy. He groaned and hissed through the pain as he dragged it to the shore. His vision was blurry and he found the resolve to quickly climb into the small vessel. Jaime could feel the water cradling the dinghy, slowly carrying him away as he drifted to sleep. 

 

*** 

 

Alone in her room, Brienne disrobed and found the mirror Sansa had given her. She propped it on the table, leaning the top against the wall. She adjusted the angle until she could stand and see her torso reflected in the murky surface. 

 

Brienne's fingers pressed against her belly. She rubbed her hand from hip to hip. She looked at herself sideways, from the front, and sideways again. There was nothing to be seen, yet somehow, she knew it was true – she was pregnant with Jaime Lannister’s child. 

 

With a heavy breath, Brienne moved to sit at the foot of the bed. She wept not because she knew nothing of being a mother, and not even because with Jaime most likely dead in King’s Landing the child was a bastard. She cried into her hands because it was impossibly sad. Jaime would die never knowing he was a father to a child she would gladly have him claim. 

 

*** 

 

He would open his eyes for a moment, feeling parched and weak, before sliding back into sleep. Jaime was aware of his dreams, but in the brief times he was conscious he could only recall certain sensations and sounds – soft skin, the soothing rush of water tumbling down soft rocks, the warmth of being held in a tight embrace, a newborn baby’s cry. And always, everywhere, the color blue. 

 

*** 

 

The fire hissed and crackled behind them. Brienne watched as Sansa somehow took a spool of thread and a pile of cloth and created a beautiful cloak. She had never acquired a taste for such things and as a mother-to-be, found herself wondering if it was time she started. But there was a different reason she had knocked on Sansa’s door. 

 

“My Lady, a raven came today. For me,” Brienne said. “From my father.” 

 

Sansa set her work on the table beside her. “I hope all is well?” she asked. 

 

Brienne stood, finding it easier to speak while she looked at the flames. “He didn’t say it outright, but I believe my father is ill. He has always wanted me to return to Tarth and take my place as his heir. It’s the one thing he and I have always disagreed on. He thinks all the time I’ve spent away has been a temporary diversion from my true path. But...” 

 

“But what, Ser Brienne?” Sansa asked, her chair creaking as she stood. 

 

“My father and I always thought to be the Lady of Evenfall Hall I would have to wear dresses and be a wife. Stay home while men fought wars.” She turned, a hand pressed to her slightly rounded belly. “Now, though, I think how tradition said I could not be a knight and I am a knight. I suppose I always could have been the Lady of Evenfall Hall while wearing breeches and at least teaching the men how to go and fight wars.” 

 

Sansa smiled. It was a beautiful image – Brienne, a mother and a knight. “Ser Brienne, you are hereby released from your oath.” 

 

“Pardon?” 

 

“I am releasing you from your service. You are free to leave Winterfell and return to Tarth.” 

 

Brienne shook her head, alarmed. “No, Lady Sansa, that is not what I was suggesting. I would never-” 

 

“You would never ask to be released from your oath. You are far too honorable to make such a request. But I don’t want to keep you from seeing your father.” 

 

“I can’t return to my father pregnant with an illegitimate child.” 

 

“You said it yourself, Brienne. Tradition said you could not be a knight and you are a knight. Don’t let tradition hold you captive and scare you. If anyone can make it work, it’s you.” 

 

Brienne looked at her a moment, her bottom lip quivering. 

 

*** 

 

The feel of the bottom of the dinghy was oddly soft. Jaime opened his eyes to find he was in a bed, in a room with four walls and a roof. He felt trapped in a nightmare, overcome with dread as the door squeaked open and a hunched figure made its way toward him. Gone as the tenderness and the warmth, the overwhelming blue. 

 

“Please, no,” he murmured. 

 

The figure stopped at the side of the bed and shouted, “He’s awake!” 

 

Jaime blinked his eyes, his vision adjusting until he could clearly see the figure was an old man. The person he called to entered the room – an old woman with straw-like gray hair piled on top of her head. “Who... are... you?” Jaime wasn’t even sure he spoke, his voice a rasp coiled tightly in his throat. 

 

The woman’s cold hand pressed against Jaime’s forehead. “I’m Sylvina,” she said. “This is my husband, Layne. He found you nearly dead.” 

 

Jaime’s tongue scraped along his bottom lip, the chapped skin burning. 

 

“You must drink,” Sylvina told him, picking up a chalice. She slid her hand between Jaime’s head and the pillow he rested on, holding him up as she tipped the chalice to his lips. 

 

The water was soothing until it wasn’t and he coughed and sputtered. The woman carefully moved her hand, easing his head back to the pillow. “Rest, rest,” she said. 

 

*** 

 

Brienne arrived in the courtyard to find two horses, packed and ready for travel, flanked by Sansa and Pod. Her chest swelled at the sight, at the fondness in Lady Sansa’s eyes and her gestures of goodwill; more than enough supplies were packed, more than Brienne had set aside herself. 

 

The two women said their goodbyes, embracing and blinking back tears. “You are always welcome here, Ser Brienne,” Sansa said. “And you best believe I will be making a trip to Tarth when the baby is born.” 

 

Brienne smiled. “Nothing would please me more.” 

 

Sansa took a step back as Pod moved to help Brienne onto her horse, revealing that Bran had been behind them. He offered a slight nod and Brienne lifted her hand in a wave. 

 

“Best you hurry,” Bran said. 

 

Brienne looked at him curiously, and for a moment worried he knew something about the state of her father’s health that she did not. 

 

*** 

 

Jaime slept and woke, slept and woke. In between he drank water and gradually managed to keep down bread. He lifted his left hand to his face and felt that Sylvina had shaved him at some point. He tried to talk, but his voice was always a rasp of breath they could not hear. His caretakers were rarely present, only coming in to leave water and bread. 

 

He had no way to measure time, but in one particular moment Jaime knew he’d been awake for his longest stretch since making it onto the small boat. He curled his left hand into a fist and pressed it into the bed, sitting up at the waist. The lack of pain surprised him and he gradually moved until both feet were on the floor. 

 

Jaime stood and the floor creaked beneath his feet. He made it to the door without falling and shuffled his feet until he found Sylvina and Layne sitting together. They looked at him, seemingly unsurprised at his improvement. He managed a smile and cleared his throat. It took two false starts, but soon Jaime was asking them, “Where are we?” 

 

Layne slowly got to his feet and went to the nearest door, pushing it open and bringing in the sunlight and the scent of fresh water and greenery and the music of a nearby waterfall as it travelled down a ragged path of rock. “Welcome to Tarth,” the man said. 

 

Part of Jaime wanted to immediately find the strength to run out into the daylight, charging toward Evenfall Hall as though his feet would know the way. He would have climbed, swam, and fought his way there if that was what it took. 

 

*** 

 

It was a joy for Brienne to introduce Podrick to the beauty of Tarth. The high meadows and sparkling lakes and, of course, sapphire sea, were a wonder after so long in the North. Brienne expected to be emotional upon reuniting with her father, but it surprised her how touched she was just to see the landscape of her true home. 

 

The horses trotted along the valley as they neared Evenfall Hall. Soon, they were climbing the craggy paths, closer and closer until they came upon a young man tending a small garden, and Brienne surmised he was a groundskeeper. 

 

The man scrambled to his feet at the sight of them and Brienne said, “I’m Brienne of Tarth. Lord Selwyn is my father. He sent-.” 

 

“Yes, yes. Lady Brienne. It is an honor.” He bowed and gestured toward the final, narrow path that would take her to the top of the mountain and to the door of Evenfall Hall. 

 

Brienne’s nerves sang and her pulse raced with the climb. She was showing enough that her pregnancy would be obvious once she removed her oversized cloak, and she regretted not sending a raven back with news of her impending arrival. She looked at Podrick beside her and for a moment considered letting her father think they were married. 

 

They left the horses and Brienne led Podrick up a stony pathway. She moved to open the door but could hear a commotion coming from somewhere outside. They walked the perimeter of the house and she was shocked to find her father standing, looking down toward the training yard and cheering. 

 

“Father?” 

 

Selwyn turned toward the voice. “Brienne!” 

 

She rushed toward him, welcoming his embrace. “I left Winterfell after I received your raven.” She leaned away to look at his face. “Are you alright? I thought you must be sick.” 

 

Selwyn shook his head. “No, no. I’ve never felt better. What troubles me, dear, is I never sent a raven.” 

 

Brienne narrowed her eyes, thinking of the day she received it. She had read it in the courtyard and afterward looked around, seeking a friendly face and finding only that Bran Stark had been watching her from the doorway of the Great Hall. “But you don’t seem surprised to see me,” she noted. “If you didn’t send for me why does it seem you were expecting me?” 

 

“Why, your-,” Selwyn stumbled, clearing his throat as he settled on the right word, “ _friend_ from the North.” He pointed toward the training yard. “He arrived a fortnight ago. Said he fought beside you and fell in love. I told him I had no reason to think my Brienne was coming home, but he was certain of it. I’m so pleased he was right.” 

 

She shook her head, walking to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the yard below. There were three boys with tourney swords watching, rapt, as a man demonstrated defensive moves. When the children noticed someone new watching them, the man stopped and turned around. 

 

“Jaime,” Brienne whispered. Her head told her it was impossible, but her heart swelled and her stomach fluttered and she knew. He looked up at her with a clean-shaven face and a beaming smile. He was holding his tourney sword in his left hand, so he lifted his right arm in greeting. Brienne noticed the absence of his gold hand as he dropped the sword and took off running. 

 

She backed up, waiting, and soon saw the top of his head and then his face and soon all of him climbing the final stony step to stand on the same ground as her. Jaime stopped there, breathing hard, and Brienne had the urge to slap him. To push him right back over the edge of the cliff. But there would be plenty of time for her to shout and for him to grovel at her feet. 

 

“Jaime,” she called out, louder, urgent, and the two of them collided in a tight embrace. 

 

After a while, still holding on, she asked, “You sent the raven?” 

 

“No,” Jaime whispered against her neck. “I never sent a raven.” 

 

“How did you know I was on my way to Tarth?” 

 

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. Jaime knew he would soon explain his encounters with Bran, would tell her of the visions and the rubble and the voyage on the sea. But he thought about what kept him alive on the dinghy, what comforted him through the thirst and pain. He thought of all the blue and said, “I dreamed of you.”


End file.
